Why I Hate Halloween

I love autumn. I love parties. I love candy. And yet, I hate the holiday when those things combine. I am the Grinch who stole Halloween. I am the Halloween Scrooge.

First of all, I hate thinking of a costume. It takes me forever to get dressed in the morning, and that’s when I have clothes right there in front of me to choose from. Having to plan a whole outfit way in advance is out of my league. Plus, the fact that I live in a city where it’s usually cold on Halloween always cuts down on my choice of costumes – Cleopatra did not need a parka on top of her sexy Egyptian garb. And like a true cheapskate, I hate spending money on something I’m only going to wear once. Yes, it’s possible I might find another use for that sexy cockroach costume, but I’d rather spend the cash on something that’ll last me a long time. Maybe even two days.

While I’m on the money tangent, here’s another reason for hating Halloween: it’s one of those nights that gives bars an excuse to charge twice as much money for the same drinks. It also means that many of the people imbibing said drinks think that the holiday gives them an excuse to act like drunken assholes in public without any repercussions. Here’s a tip: if you’re only an asshole underneath your costume, you are still an asshole. Also, have you ever tried mixing too-sweet candy with too-sweet cocktails? It’s basically asking to barf.

You know who hates Halloween possibly more than I do? My dad. Because it’s his birthday. Imagine if every year you had to share your special day with hordes of drunk people in pirate and slutty nurse costumes who had seven too many orange and black cocktails or if your romantic birthday dinner was constantly interrupted by kids dressed in polyester pumpkin outfits and their mothers who refuse to accept your candy because it’s not wrapped in biodegradable packaging.

All that being said, there is a holiday that I love: the day after Halloween. Half priced candy? I’ll take it. And then you can get off my lawn.